Happy Birthday Daddy
by Avada Lestrange
Summary: Freddie Weasley II has a ritual every year on his father's birthday. George isn't the same since Fred left, here is a look into his world with his son.


When dealing with the loss of a loved one we often seek comfort, whether from a family member, friend, or even total stranger. The lengths in which we go to seem to take us into a new reality where we may live in peace even without that person by our sides. Once we feel whole again we launch ourselves back upon the world, but only when the time comes that we are ready. However, it is a different case when a piece of you goes missing, a lost token at war that slowly shatters your world in one fatal blow. In that particular case, when released upon the world one is never truly ready, and in the domino effect brings down those around them as well. George Weasley had suffered such a blow when his very own twin was lost in a brutal bloodbath with good verses evil, and he, no matter how hard he tried, was never whole again. George eventually married out of pure desperation just for the slightest glimpse of his old life, hence choosing a partner who had once been a big part of his life, Angelina Johnson. The two had, whether happily or not, had two children, Freddie II named after his lost half, and Roxanne. From the time young Freddie was about 5 years old he knew his father was not right in the head, and even at such a curiously young age, he knew the reason. Of course, with all due respect, George had not even the slightest clue that Freddie was so aware of the situation, and Freddie intended to keep it that way. Every year, there was a day that seemed to plague Freddie with guilt, it would eat up his insides knowing what he was about to do, and knowing he was about to see his father crumble like a ball of finely packed sand inside the hand of a child.

The day approached almost too quickly, the passing time licked away at his insides like burning flames there to torture but not fully swallow him up, for they too knew the day was upon them and wanted the boy to suffer. This year Freddie was 13, and the following day his father would age yet another year farther from the frozen age of his twin lost by the heart breaker that is time. For, we can never catch time, but it can sure catch us.

As the first shimmers of the morning light peeked through Freddie's window and crept through his closed eyelids he knew it was time to get up, for this was one of the two days a year that his father would be a mess of grays and blacks rather than, what he had heard, used to be bright purples and oranges. With a grunt he pushed himself up from his bed, the springs creaking at the sudden lack of weight as he made his way into the bathroom and got ready for the day. When his hair was combed-well, when his bed head had been patted down by his hands-and his sweater was pulled over his head, he made his way downstairs to find what he did every year. Sitting-Slumping rather, at the table was a de-shelved shell of a man, his hair was sticking up in tufts, his eyes being traced by dark lines from lack of sleep, all drawn together by an expression that could break a heart simply with a mistaken glance. "Morning dad..." Freddie said as if nothing were wrong, though of course everything was. George lifted his heavy head from the table and faked a poor excuse for a smile at his son, he gave a small wave then went back to staring at some invisible spot on the table. With a sigh, Freddie shuffled into the kitchen, and after a matter of minutes came back and set a plate of pancakes in front of his father, even though he knew George would only take one or two bites to humor him. The morning went on like that and seemed to drag on and on, which was fine by Freddie, who certainly would put off the night as long as he could.

The sun had long set, it was now nearing time for presents and cake, an innocent time for one in normal circumstances. George stood in the kitchen whispering fiercely to his wife about the celebrations that were about to occur, the two tended to fight a lot in hushed tones, they so expected their children not to hear. Freddie stood with his back against the wall listening in to their not-so-silent fight, mute tears made their way down his freckled cheeks as his hands balled into tight fists at the very sound of it all. This part of it wasn't all that uncommon, his parents fought a lot, though he made sure his little sister Roxanne never even caught a wisp of it being the protective brother he was. Another thing he would never dream of showing any of his family were the tears that so often inhabited his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

The lights were dimmed as the candles reflected all the pale faces in the room, the cake sat on the table in front of George as the others sat around and watched. George had frantically run around the house closing all windows and any possible source of wind or anything that could blow out a flame so as to know the truth, as he did every year. With one very strategically picked blow, he blew out precisely half the candles on the cake, as was per usual. Without even a glance back, George rose from his chair, gave Freddie one strained look and whispered almost as if to the cake "Happy Birthday Fred..." and went off to bed. Soon after the rest of the family followed and went to their respected rooms to turn in for the night. When the house was pitch dark and feint snoring could be heard coming from the rooms, Freddie crept out of his room and into the kitchen where half the candles still flickered lightly against the walls. He gently slid up to it, and blew out the other half of the candles as he did every year. "Happy Birthday Uncle Fred..." he whispered before heading back to bed. Freddie did this every year, as every year his father left half of the candles lit, in the utter belief that his twin's spirit would come and blow them out, when in truth Freddie had been doing it all these year


End file.
